“Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. Without whisky," went on McClintock, "your irritability is beyond tolerance. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. " "Couldn't … couldn't I go with you this afternoon?" "Too hot. Its very calmness was frightful. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. I watched you wait at the farmhouse! But I couldn’t compromise your safety! You must have realized that!” She lowered her voice to a loud whisper.
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